There and Back Again
by Richonne Writing Network
Summary: Rearranging Richonne's history with six different canon meets. Six Richonne writers come together to rewrite our couple's history.
1. Chapter 1

_Happy New Year_ , lovely readers! The Richonne Writing Network has a new treat for all of you.

At this point we all know _every scene_ , _every moment,_ _every stare_ , with our favorite couple like the back of our hand. But what if they had met in a different way?

In our new _ **Canon** **Rewrite**_ series, we answer that question with a series of ** _six one-shots_** that have Rick and Michonne meeting at different points along their ZA journey.

We really hope you enjoy these one-shots, because we know, no matter _**what, when, how, where**_ , Rick and Michonne **were meant to be**.

* * *

 **Persuasion **

**written by:** love devil movies baby

 **STORY SUMMARY: _Finding good people is no easy feat at the end of the world. Convincing them to trust you is even harder. Michonne has her heart set on team family, but first she has to get Rick on her side._**

 **A/N:** I love Rick and Michonne's first meeting and I can't help but wonder how he'd let himself feel about her if Lori was long since gone? I'm betting he'd be even more sprung on the warrior woman. I hope you enjoy! - **ldmb**

 **EP 5X12 Remember - New Canon Meet #1 **

Her traveling companion sat beside her in the passenger seat, tense as a bowstring, his fingers drumming almost absently on his hatchet. In another life, the silence would have been uncomfortable. Michonne watched him from the corner of her eye as she navigated the borrowed car. He was tense, though he was doing a fair job at disguising it. She recognized the fear though, the uncertainty.

His group was just behind them, in the back of the RV. They were approaching the situation with far more enthusiasm. More than a few had been hiding smiles, peering eagerly out of the window as their makeshift caravan approached the destination.

"We're about five miles out," Michonne announced. She used a tone rarely taken since the world ended- her courtroom voice. It had cajoled witnesses, soothed juries, and won her more cases than she could count. This morning, it had earned her the tentative trust of this band of strangers. For now, it was enough.

She knew them long before they knew her. Michonne had watched them from afar for days now, trying to glean some knowledge about the strange, ragtag group picking their way through Virginia's backroads. It'd been months since she'd seen so many living together like this, and more months still since she'd witnessed anyone making their way to Washington DC. Whatever hope there had been in the government saving them was long since gone. The Capitol was silent as a giant marble tomb now, a graveyard left in monument to what this world used to be. Michonne stole out some nights to look upon it, needing to remember, needing to quiet her thoughts of that time, of her life, of the family she had lost. Perhaps it was masochism to torment herself so, but the thoughts of Mike, the thoughts of her son, Andre would not be silenced in any other way.

It was this restlessness that led her to volunteer for these missions, searching for survivors out here at the end of the world. She was certainly the most capable of Alexandria's residents. They'd been lucky enough to be behind high walls when this started. Few of them had lost anything or anyone at all. She envied them and despised them all at once for this sin, even as she sought to protect them.

This group now sequestered together in her beat up RV might prove to be of some use. They did not wander in fear, clinging to one another and crying, nor did they seem to be a group of criminals rampaging their way through the streets. They had been efficient on the road, quiet- as though the act of talking had become too much for them. They'd faced hardships, Michonne was sure. No one lasted this long out here without them. Even so, it was not this knowledge that endeared them to her.

They had a baby.

Michonne had seen her from a distant, the round-faced little cherub with dark blonde hair. The sight alone had knocked the air from her lungs, threatened to level her. For a moment, she feared her hallucinations had returned. But the babe was very much alive, bouncing between members of the group. Most often could be found strapped to the chest of the group's leader.

It was this leader, a man named Rick, who gave her pause. He was a wild-looking man, all mangy beard and long curly hair, his expression more often dour than not. He spoke seldom, but his words never went unheeded. The two children in the group, the baby and a young boy, belonged in some way to him. Whatever Rick was, he'd managed to protect his children from this hell. She wanted to know him, to ask him how.

Perhaps now she had her chance. She would need to be careful. He was skittish as a deer, fierce as a cornered animal. She could take him, of course, but delivering him to Alexandria injured defeated the whole point of this exercise.

"There's something you need?" Rick asked, his words a clipped southern accent. She'd been staring too hard.

Michonne turned her attention back to the road. DC loomed in the distance, its marble columns rising above the horizon. Rick was looking at them too, his expression unreadable.

"I came from DC, you know," she told him, "my family and I. We fled when this all started." She kept her voice conversational, though her stomach contracted into knots.

There was a beat of silence where Michonne wondered whether he would acknowledge her. Then he spoke. "They're at the community?" he asked gruffly.

"No," Michonne's eyes fell to her rearview mirror, gazing at the baby again. "It's just me there. There are a few other children. They're all safe behind the walls."

Rick's eyes moved to his daughter. Her brother was holding her in his lap, his eyes fixed on Michonne. The little girl was beginning to fuss, tired from the cold and the hunger and the constant movement.

"There's applesauce," Michonne offered. "In my bag. I'm sure you saw it." Her every belonging had been carefully searched and inspected while the decision to follow her was made. Michonne spent the better part of her morning tied up in an old barn with her now-passenger assuring her that he would kill her at the first sign of trouble. There was another pause as Rick's eyes narrowed towards her again. "I used to always have snacks in my bag before the turn," Michonne said. "They came in handy."

Rick nodded, glancing back at his son. The boy reached for the bag, fishing the treat out. He handed it to Rick. Rick inspected the jar. One-handed, he popped it open, fumbling for a spoon. He brandished the utensil at her. Compliantly, Michonne opened her mouth.

"Needs cinnamon," she swallowed the treat. "I'll have to keep my eyes open for some." She licked the remainder from her lips.

Rick quickly took a bite of it before turning to his daughter. She was crying in full force now. The applesauce had its intended effect almost immediately. She quieted, cooing happily.

"What's her name?" Michonne asked, smiling at the baby. Rick watched her again, clearly assessing.

"Judith." His answer was clipped. "Carl named her."

"Your son," Michonne turned her head towards the boy. Carl nodded by way of greeting. She smiled at him. "He looks like you. How old is he?"

"Probably around 12 now," Rick looked sad for a moment. He quickly disguised it again.

"You've done well, protecting them," Michonne nodded sagely.

"Couldn't protect them all," he mumbled. The silence spread again, thick and heavy. "You had a child?" he guessed.

"I did," she swallowed thickly, "a boyfriend too."

"How old?" he turned to her.

"Three. Applesauce was his favorite." she smiled despite herself, cursing the sudden show of emotion. It wasn't often she allowed herself to talk about Andre or Mike. But she'd be damned if that baby and that little boy suffered the same fate because their father was too proud or too frightened. Michonne pressed her advantage. "Some of us in the community, we've lost people. A few haven't. But no one's been lost once they've come inside the walls. Not one in months." She was a big part of this, her and a few others who could fight. In truth, she was burning out. She needed allies. All of Alexandria did.

Rick tilted his head at her. "And you want us there? A group of killers?"

"The church?" she guessed. She'd seen them that night; there was no point in pretending she hadn't. Rick nodded, waiting for an explanation. "I saw a group do what they had to. There was no joy in it. You do what it takes to survive out there. And you wouldn't be the only killers." Her mind raced to her katana, still in the RV.

Rick seemed to accept this, his face softening just a fraction. Carl watched attentively from the backseat, still feeding his sister. Rick continued his line of questioning. "And you like it there? Behind the walls?"

She laughed. Rick squinted at her in confusion. "We're safe there. We're fed. Some people are happy. It's enough." Michonne clarified.

"Would you go, if you were me?" he asked, fixing her with his cobalt gaze. It seemed a moot point while he was in her car, but she answered him nevertheless.

"I wish I'd gone earlier, when I still had someone to go for," Michonne looked at his children. She wished she could hold the baby close to her, stroke her hair. There was not a day she didn't miss the feel of Andre in her arms.

"Is that is?" Carl spoke for the first time, pointing to the gates in front of her.

"That's it," Michonne smiled at him again, enjoying the awe on his face as he took in the high walls.

Rick shifted in his seat to look at his children as they slowed before the fence, the RV behind them.

"Carl, go join the others," he instructed.

His son nodded, hopping out of the car with Judith as they rolled to a stop. The door shut behind them.

"Michonne," it was the first time he'd said her name. A chill ran through her at his inflection. She longed suddenly for her katana, her eyes darting to the hatchet in his lap.

"Rick," she removed her hands from the steering wheel, placing them in her lap.

He ground his teeth, glancing at Alexandria. Behind them, his community piled out of the RV, waiting expectantly.

"You're asking me to bring my family in there," Rick clipped out. "You're asking me to trust you."

"Rick, I'm trying to save you," Michonne sighed. She could not spend every moment trying to convince him of this.

"Why?" he stared at her hard, jaw tight.

"For those kids," Michonne looked out the window at them. "And because I need help."

"Help how?" His eyes flicked to his children and back to her face.

Michonne sighed again, debating just telling him the truth. "The people in there," she measured her words. "They've gotten lucky. But luck

doesn't last long out here. They need to learn how to survive, how to fight. I can't be the only fighter there."

"You'd ally yourself with us?" Rick asked.

"You have a family. Mine is gone," Michonne sniffled, covering her face with a hand. The wall she'd put up around herself began to crumble in front of this stranger. She felt deathly embarrassed as she pawed at her face, trying to get herself together.

She felt his hand before she even realized he'd moved. The calloused, hard surface covered her shoulder almost tentatively, as though intimacy was something he didn't know anymore either. Michonne started, her whole body tensing at the contact. Rick flinched as well but his hand remained.

"I'll do this," he said slowly. "For them," he turned his head toward Carl and Judith.

"Good," she swallowed, trying to calm herself. "I'll help protect them."

He nodded almost absently, his eyes on her again. "I'm sorry. About your family. Lost my wife too."

Michonne brought her hand up to touch his. "I'm sorry too." It was a weak sentiment in comparison to the pain of their losses, but Rick seemed to relish in it nonetheless.

He released her, his hand leaving a warm imprint. Without further ado, he opened the car door and stepped out. Michonne followed him.

Rick's eyes were closed, his face pointed towards the fence. From the other side, the sounds of Alexandria filled the air, voices chatting, children laughing. Michonne watched him, a warmth starting to blossom inside of her that she hadn't felt since her son died. It took her a moment to place the emotion, but realization came at once. It was hope.

"There's kids," Rick's eyes opened in surprise, something almost like delight on his face. It cut through the layers of dirt and hair, smoothing out his features until he looked nearly a decade younger. Michonne suddenly wondered what he looked like before the turn.

Michonne chuckled despite herself. "I told you there were," she smiled at him. "C'mon," she announced it to the group as a whole. "I'll introduce you."

"So I walk through there with you, and then what?" Rick turned to her. For the first time that day, he allowed his nervousness to show.

"How about I give you a haircut?" she suggested. "You're going to scare the hell out of the kids in there, wolfman."

There was a pause as her statement hung in the air for a moment. From behind them, Carl began to laugh. Rick turned to him, incredulous. Carl just shrugged.

"You do need to shave," he told his father with a smirk. Michonne winked at the young boy who's grin only widened. Rick turned back to her, the hint of a smile playing on the corner of his lips.

"Fair enough," he conceded. With a nod, he turned to his people. They looked on, relief and joy thinly veiled on their faces. "Lead the way," Rick told her, gesturing to the gate.

Michonne turned and did just that, leading the group into Alexandria.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Party**

 **Written by:** avintagekiss24

 **STORY SUMMARY: Rick thought dinner parties were a thing of the past. But, he's going to try; for Carl, for Judith, and for the new woman in white.**

 **A/N:** I chose to rewrite this particular episode because I thought it would be cool to have Rick and Michonne meet in a semi-normal atmosphere. They don't know the benefits of knowing each other yet, they don't know how capable each other is out in the zombie apocalypse. They're just meeting like two normal people would without having to fight for their lives. -avintagekiss24

 **EP 5X13 Forget - New Canon Meet #2**

"And, a martini dry for the lady." Aaron smiles as he passes Michonne the dainty cocktail glass.

She smiles in return, taking a sip before moaning a little out of satisfaction, "You have some sort of magic Aaron. I could never find a bartender that could make my martini's right."

"I do have magic, it's called being gay darling." He winks, drawing a giggle from her as he pumps her shoulder with his, "Have I told you how great you look tonight? That dress was made for just for you."

She rolls her eyes, clicking her teeth slightly as she brings the open triangle shaped glass to her lips again. She remembers when she found this dress. It was months ago when she was out on a run with Aaron. They had found this upscale neighborhood tucked away in the Virginian hills. The real estate in there was nothing less than a cool million if she has to guess, but it reminded her of home. Of Atlanta. It reminded her of her old life. All those nights at corporate events and lavish Christmas parties. Shopping downtown, getting her dreads twisted and curled. Showing off Mike to her colleagues… When she found the woman of the houses' closet, it felt like she was _that_ Michonne again.

She ran her fingers over all of the expensive dresses and tailored pant suits and gazed at the massive high heel collection as a smile came over her face. She pulled out the white, floor length, satin dress and held it up to her body, tilting her head as she gazed at herself in the body length mirror. It had been a long time since she had felt like _that_ Michonne. Reality came crashing in on her seconds later as the stench of rotting flesh hit her nostrils. The reanimated corpse of the owner of the impressive clothing collection came ambling up behind her, grabbing Michonne's shoulder. She dropped the dress and the walker in quick succession. She then stood there, her chest heaving, and gazed upon the clothes the hung on their hangers, now riddled with spots of blood and flesh. She turned toward the mirror and couldn't take her eyes off her reflection. Standing tall, gripping her katana, drops of blood on her face. _That_ _Michonne doesn't exist anymore. This is who you are now._

She picked the white satin dress back up after a moment, surprised to see that not a drip of blood had landed on it. It was still as pretty and pristine as it had ever been, despite being in this new world. A metaphor. She folded it up gently and placed it in her backpack before swiping a pair of Giuseppe heels and rejoined Aaron in the kitchen. Tonight was the first chance she had to show off her metaphor, even if no one else knew or even understood the meaning. She felt like _that_ Michonne, and just for a night, she would hold onto it.

"I can't wait for you to meet the new group." Aaron gushes, scanning the party goers to make sure he hasn't missed their entrance, "They're tough, _really_ skiddish, but I think they'll fit in well once they get acclimated."

Michonne remembered that feeling too. She made the journey from Atlanta to Virginia all by herself. By the time she had made it, by the time Aaron found her, she was talking to her dead boyfriend and son. She could even see them, after all of that time, it was still like they were standing right in front of her. She was so far gone before Alexandria. It was scary to think about, "You said the one guy punched you."

He laughs a little, before taking a swig of his beer, "Well, yeah, but I've been punched before."

Just then, a commotion at the front door draws Aaron and Michonne's attention. Aaron stands up straighter peering over the heads of Deanna's family and their fellow members before turning back to Michonne, "There they are. Let me go say hi. Don't disappear, I wanna introduce you."

She nods slowly, letting the cocktail glass linger around her lips as she watches the new group file in one by one. A young woman catches her eye first. She hangs loosely onto her boyfriend or husband maybe, as he runs his hand through his dark hair as Aaron approaches. They both smile widely, the young Asian man accepting Aaron's hand shake and beer. They both look so nice. A handsome couple. Then, there's a tall, red headed man, loud, booming almost, and a small, Hispanic woman, her hair pulled back into a low ponytail. He looks like the town drunk and she looks like a hard ass that takes no shit. After them, is a boy. A young boy, thirteen, fourteen maybe. He still has a certain wide eyed innocence but, he's already been through a lot. She can tell just by looking at him. Michonne take another sip of her drink, tapping her fingers against the glass, making soft clinks.

"Hey, Michonne."

A voice calls to her, pulling her attention away from the door to toward its owner. She smiles softly at the young man, "Hey Spencer. What's up?"

He tilts his head toward the newcomers, "You get a load of them?"

"Not yet."

He widens his eyes and lets out a breath, causing Michonne to laugh a little, "Tough crowd, that's all. I just tried to say hi to that little chick, the one with the ponytail. I think her name is Rosita or Rosa or something, anyway, she nearly bit my head off!"

Michonne laughs again lightly, "What do you expect? They aren't used to all of this. They've been out there for a long time."

"Yeah, but still. I was just trying to be nice."

Michonne gives him a stern, but motherly look, "There is no but still. You guys have spent the past two year ignoring what's out there. This," she waves her hand around to the house and alcohol and music, "Isn't going to seem normal to them for a long time. They're scared. Give 'em a minute."

He puts his hands up in the air, admitting his small defeat by offering her a sheepish smile. They make small talk for a while before they separate, Michonne migrating toward the kitchen to grab another small sandwich and some water before heading toward her favorite hideout. She sneaks out the backdoor, closing the sliding door softly behind her and walks to the banister, setting her martini and water bottle on it before she rests her elbows next to them. She chews on her sandwich slowly, glancing up at the moon and stars before a few voices catch her attention. She leans up a little, peeking through the trees to see a long haired man in a leather biker vest speaking to a shirt gray haired woman. She's trying to get him to come inside, but he resists every attempt, eventually turning and walking back down the street. Michonne knows that feeling too.

She's not sure how much time passes but she enjoys the quiet. The new Michonne isn't much for parties it seems, even in her pretty satin dress. She hears the sliding door and turns her head to the side, catching a glimpse of the ever so gracious Aaron with two men trailing behind him.

"I told you not to disappear." He scolds lightly, swatting at her arm, "Rick, Carl, this is my girl Michonne. She's sort of in charge of our runs and scavenging. Michonne, this is Rick Grimes and his son Carl."

"You're the one with the katana?" The young Carl asks, holding out his hand to her.

She takes it firmly, offering him a smile as they shake hands, "I am indeed."

"That is so awesome. That guy Spencer says you are super good with it."

She nods, laughing lightly, "It definitely took me a while to get the hang of it. It's a newly found skill. I can um, I can show you sometime, if you'd like?"

Carl's big eyes somehow find a way to get bigger as his face breaks into an excited smile, "That would be fucking amazing!"

"Carl." His dad scolds, hitting his arm with the back of his hand, "Watch your mouth in front of the lady."

The young boy scrunches up his face, "So Maggie, Rosita, Tara, Sasha, and Carol aren't ladies? You swear in front of them all the time."

Rick cuts his eyes toward his boy, "Go inside and check on Judy, huh?"

"I'll join you." Aaron pipes up, nudging Michonne discreetly before pushing off behind the kid.

She rolls her eyes, shooting daggers into Aaron's back as he retreats her leaving her with a stranger. She's still not all that good with strangers. She glances at the tall man before her as he punches the bridge of his nose before running his hands through his long hair, "Sorry, he's…. sorry."

"It's okay," she shrugs, "I've heard worse."

He shakes his head as he keeps his eyes closed before glancing off down the street, "I'm trying to keep him, civilized I guess. It's the only decent thing I can teach him anymore."

She nods, "I get that."

It grows silent between the two of them. He moves slowly beside her and leans over the banister of the deck, letting out a long, deep sigh. She stands tall, tapping her fingers against the wood as she looks out onto the street. She peeks over at him after a while. His head is lowered as he bites at his lip, deep in thought. It's like she's not even standing next to him. Her eyes linger over his freshly shaven cheeks and salt and pepper tresses. He looks nice in that blue button down and black jeans. A little too nice, actually. She glances down at his old, worn out boots, scuffed to all hell, stained with blood. It's a stark difference between his ironed button down and new jeans. Another metaphor. His linked fingers rub against one another slowly as they hang over the edge of the deck. They look strong; hardened and calloused, but still soft. Her gaze falls back on his face. He looks worried, scared almost. He's got to be their leader. It's written all over him. All of their lives are in the palm of his hand and he's worried. She likes that. He has a good energy, rough around the edges maybe, but mostly, it's good. She can feel it.

"It's okay that this feels weird." She states calmly, barely above a whisper, "I'm still not used to it either."

He stares out across the road, then looks up at her after a moment or two, "Yeah?" He voice is as soft as hers.

"Yeah. This isn't normal."

Rick swallows harshly as he watches this strange woman's eyes twinkle underneath the starlight. He doesn't trust a soul here and the thought of killing everyone, still plays through in his mind. Her words are cryptic and they almost make him want to pull his gun _but_ ; he _knows_ what she means. This shit ain't normal. Not after everything he and his ragtag group have been through, but he needs to try. For Carl and for Judy, for Glenn and Maggie, who seem to already see something that he doesn't. He needs to try. That's what he keeps telling himself. She, Michonne, doesn't seem like the rest of them in there. It's almost as if she's a ghost, hovering between the world of the living and the dead. She does just enough to seem like she wants to fit in. She smiles, she makes nice, but yet, she still finds a way to hide in a house full of life. She hides in plain sight, and that's not usually a person you can trust. But, there's something… something genuine about her? He doesn't know, he can't- he can't really put his finger on it but she seems more like Rick and his crew, than Deanna and the Alexandrians. That comforts him a little.

"I better check on Carl." He clears his throat as he stands up straight, back away from the banister, "It was um, it was nice, meeting you."

He says it more like a question than a statement. She nods, smiling as her eyes drop to the ground, "Likewise." She points out behind her with her thumb, "I'm um, I'm at 1726 Ash lane if Carl wants to come by."

"I don't want him to bother you."

"It's no bother, really. I used to have a s-"She stops abruptly, just as the word is about to slip from her mouth. She drops her eyes again and bites her lip. She's hiding again, right in front of him. Rick tilts his head a little as he watches her disappear, "It won't be a bother." She smiles widely as she makes eye contact with him again, faking her way through the rest of the conversation.

He nods slowly as he pushes open the door, "I'm sure he'd like that. Thanks."

He disappears inside and she turns back to the street, letting out a deep sigh. She closes her eyes for a long moment before she reopens them and returns her soft gaze back to moon and stars. The door opens behind her again and reveals the only person she can really call her friend.

"So? He's cute, right? You should have seen him with that beard." Aaron says, replacing her empty cocktail glass with another stiff drink.

"I don't know about all that," She lies, not wanting to give into the fact that he is plenty easy on the eye, "He's the one punched you though, right?"

Aaron's eyes widen as he places his hand on his hip, "And just how do you know that?"

She shrugs, "I can just tell."

Aaron glances at her from the side, a smirk on his lips, "I think you and the handsome Rick are going to get along real well in the near future. You mark my words." She rolls her eyes but he's quick to stop her, "I mean it! He reminded me a lot of you when I first met them, that's why I brought them back. He's smart, you're smart, you're both natural leaders. You both know how to survive out there. You two plus Deanna could really do some great things with this place. That's what we need."

"You're too much." She laughs.

"It's just a plus that he's good looking." He shrugs, laughing as she shakes her head, "Listen, I can tell your people meter is just at about zero, so you wanna blow this joint? Eric is making spaghetti and I stole a bottle of vodka from Deanna's stash."

"Nice." She nods, "Let's do it."

Rick watches as Aaron makes his way through the crowd of people as the emotionally ambiguous Michonne trails behind him. He takes a sip of his beer as she watches them exit the house, his mind starting to wander again. _White looks good on her._

"So, that Michonne lady seemed nice, huh?" Carl pipes up, breaking into his father's thoughts.

"Yeah." He says absentmindedly, "You like her?"

The boy shrugs, "Yeah. She seems pretty smart and from what Spencer says, she's pretty damn good with a horse and that sword of hers. He says she's only been her for a few months but she's been a really big help." Carl says, popping some pretzels into his mouth.

"Oh yeah?" Rick slides his eyes toward his son, "Well, don't get too cozy with anybody. We don't know these people."

Carl rolls his eyes, "Dad, come on."

"I mean it. This isn't normal. We have to stay sharp."

Carl sighs, nodding slowly, "Yeah." It grows silent between the two for a minute, both staring out at the group of people, "I like her." Carl says after a while, defying his father's warnings, "She seems really nice and I think she's pretty." Rick sighs heavily, cutting his eyes toward Carl again. _I think she's pretty too_. He doesn't say anything. He just looks down at the beer bottle in his hand as his son continues to speak, "I think we should give her a chance. Give this place a chance. This is what we've been looking for."

Rick is still silent, even after Carl stops talking. _You have to try, for them_ , "She said you could stop by her place sometime."

Carl turns his head toward his weary father, "Awesome."

That strange woman wanders through his mind for a few minutes more before he literally shakes his head to get rid of her. He grabs the back of Carl's neck and finishes off his beer, "Come on bud, let's head out."

Deanna had offered them three homes but everyone crammed into Rick's. Out of fear, out of comfort, out of safety. They're spread out on the floor, Glenn and Maggie taking the couch. Rick looks over his shoulder, eying his son as he snores lightly, his arm slung over his sister. He turns back toward the window, staring out into the empty street as the moon splashes its white light over the black concrete. He thinks about the words his new neighbor said to him. _It's okay that this feels weird_. It's been hours since he met her, but he can't get rid of her. It's not just being here that makes him feel weird anymore. She did. In a way that he hasn't felt since… Lori. He spent all of five minutes with her and she stirred something up in him that he was sure didn't exist anymore. Adding to the fear and confusion of being here in the first place. He sighs deeply before dropping his head and pinching the bridge of his nose.

 _It's okay that this feels weird._


	3. Chapter 3

**Bring Me Home**

 **written by:** PennyLane71

 **STORY SUMMARY:** _Rick's already fragile world is shattered when Carl is accidentally shot. In his lowest moment, Rick feels an unexpected kinship with the beautiful stranger who brought him to his son._

 **A/N:** I chose this particular prompt because this episode showcased Rick's love and unwavering commitment to his child. Michonne shares this same aspect and I was excited about the chance to make their first meeting an open and empathetic one as opposed to the antagonist version we got on TV. I will forever loves the Grimes 2.0 and adding Andre only made it better. - **Pennylane71**

* * *

 **EP 2x2 Bloodletting- New Canon Meet #3**

Michonne stood on the porch outside the home of the Greene family, squinting to see the approaching figures. She raised her binoculars to see a man running towards the house, holding a limp child in his arms. Otis, the Greene's farmhand, was doing his best to keep up but was obviously struggling.

"Oh my god," she whispered under her breath. The front door opened and a little boy with dark curly hair beckoned to Michonne, trying to catch her attention.

"I can't see, mama!" he complained. "What's that? Who's coming?"

"I don't know, baby," she admitted.

Michonne dropped the binoculars and reached behind to grip the hilt of her sword.

"Andre, go inside and get and get Mr. Greene for me."

*************/*************

Shane could finally see an oasis in the form of a white, well-kept farm house. He continued to push on, his muscles burning with fatigue. Between the blood and sweat, an unconscious Carl continued to slip from his grasp. They eventually reached the house where a woman stood; cautiously grasping what looked like a weapon. A young boy also came out, followed by an older man in suspenders.

The white-haired man rolled up his sleeves, preparing to receive them.

"Are you Hershel!?" Shane's heart was pounding in his ears. "Please, you gotta help him."

"Was he bit?"

"Shot. He was shot," Shane managed to choke out.

Hershel motioned for Shane to follow him inside.

"What's your name, son?"

"Shane…I'm Shane. That's Carl." His breathing was erratic and the perspiration dripping from his brow was stinging his eyes.

Following the apparent doctor into a bedroom, Shane pulled back the pristine comforter and laid Carl down. Hershel immediately got to work, placing pressure on the wound while Shane stumbled around in disbelief.

What followed was a whirlwind of activity with Hershel and his family gathering supplies and asking questions that Shane couldn't answer.

"What's Carl's blood type?" Hershel's older daughter held a bag of saline and looked at Shane expectantly.

Shane frantically rubbed his head, trying to keep his panic under control.

"I uh…I don't... I'm not his dad. Shit, his dad…his dad doesn't know. Rick doesn't even know this happened."

Hershel continued to work. "We'll need his father. The boy's going to need blood and soon," he implored.

Michonne stepped up, wanting to help. "Where's the rest of your group? I'll get him."

Andre came into the room, clinging to Michonne's leg. "Mama, I wanna come. Can I?"

Michonne squatted down and met Andre face-to-face. "I have to find this boy's dad and it might be dangerous. I need you to stay here and stay safe." Andre shoved his hands in his pockets, pouting.

"Beth, would you mind keeping an eye on him for a few?" Michonne asked.

"I got him. Come on, Peanut." Beth took Andre's hand and led him out the room.

"Shane. Shane?" Michonne tried to get the distraught man's attention. "I need you to tell me where I can find Rick, okay? They've got …Carl? That's his name?" Shane nodded.

"They're taking care of Carl, but I need your help to find his dad."

Trying to focus, Shane told Michonne about the rest of the group - those in the woods and the rest waiting with the RV.

With the information she needed, Michonne grabbed the nearest horse and began her search.

*************/*************

Back in the forest, Rick and the rest of his group continued to comb the area, hoping for any sign of Sophia. Deep down, Rick knew it was a long shot, especially after this long, but how could he give up? If Carl was missing, he'd want everyone to move heaven and earth to find him.

It had been a long time since he'd seen the other half of the search party and that lone gunshot they'd heard was making Rick anxious to lay eyes on his boy.

"We're burning daylight. Let's call it for today and head back towards the highway," Glenn suggested.

Rick nodded but seemed distracted.

"You still worried about that shot?" Glenn asked.

"Why one shot? It doesn't make any sense…" Rick was confused, worried.

Andrea, irritated after stumbling into a spider web, didn't notice the walker approaching until it was too late. Flailing awkwardly, she crawled backwards, trying to stay out of its clutches.

The others, hearing her cries for help, ran to reach her but it was clear no one would get there in time. Andrea laid on the forest floor, terror maring her face as her mouth hung open in a silent scream.

Out of the thick of the forest, a brown mare being ridden by a dark-skinned woman with flowing locs entered the clearing. The rider swung the gleaming katana blade in her hand, severing the head of the walker and saving Andrea's life.

The woman on the ground watched the decomposing head roll to the side, rotten teeth snapping at the air.

Rick stared wide-eyes, his jaw slack. This stranger on the horse looked like something out of one of Carl's comic books. Beautiful and regal, handling a sword as effortlessly as one would hold a pen.

"Rick?" She turned to the man in the bedraggled sheriff uniform.

"Huh?" Rick stared at her in wonderment.

"Rick. Grimes."

Nothing.

"Are you Rick Grimes?" she asked more insistently.

Finally, he nodded his head.

"You have to come with me. There's been an accident. Carl's been shot."

Whatever color remained in Rick's face had fully drained. He thought of that single shot that rang out earlier and the world around him started to spin.

"Rick!" she said again. "Carl needs you now. You have to come with me."

Without a second thought, Rick moved to mount the horse, prepared to go wherever this woman was taking him.

"Whoa, wait a minute! Rick, we don't even know her! You can't just leave!" Glenn implored.

Rick ignored the protest and climbed on.

The mysterious rider turned to the group, giving them directions to the farm before heading back through the trees, taking Rick with her.

*************/*************

Before long, Michonne had returned to the Greene home with Rick. Coming to a stop, Rick managed to get himself off the horse, his gait unsteady. Shane ran to meet them, apologizing over and over.

Rick didn't seem to hear his friend and followed Michonne as she gently took his arm and led him inside to his son. Rick walked into the antique bedroom and began to fall apart. Carl was so still, his skin almost as white as the bedspread he was underneath.

Rick climbed on the bed and ran shaky fingers through Carl's hair, whispering to him.

"I'm here, Carl. Dad's here. It's gonna be okay. We're gonna make you okay."

Michonne watched the reunion from the doorway, her heart aching for them both. She felt the urge to comfort this man, to offer some kind of assurance. Instead, she stepped out, closing the door behind her.

*************/*************

So much had happened in such a short time. Hershel had delivered the news that Carl would need to be opened up to remove the pieces of the fragmented bullet. Unfortunately, the supplies he needed were inside the local high school surrounded by the dead. Otis, desperately trying to make things right, insisted on joining Shane on the ill-fated run. Shane had returned just in time with the needed medical supplies. Unfortunately, he'd done so without Otis, claiming he'd been taken down by the dead.

The mourning for Otis was put on pause as Carl's surgery was the priority. The procedure had seemingly gone well; as well it could under the circumstances. The boy's vitals seemed steady but he remained unconscious.

Rick had refused to leave his son's side, needing to be there in case Carl needed more blood, in case he woke up - in case he didn't.

He didn't hear the bedroom door open and the pitter-patter of small feel approaching him. Rick felt a tug on the back of his shirt and turned to find the little boy of the woman who'd brought him here.

"Hi Carl's dad. I got a book, see?"

Andre raised a book that was half his size. "I was gonna read Carl a story. Stories help _me_ when _I_ don't feel good."

Michonne burst in shortly after Andre. "I am so sorry. Andre, let Mr. Grimes be."

"No, no...he's fine," Rick assured her. "That's very nice of you, Andre. Come on, you can sit here." He stood up and motioned for the little boy to take his place.

Andre climbed onto the seat proudly. He opened the book to a random spot and started telling his tale, obviously making it up as he went along.

Rick couldn't help but smile at the toddler.

"He's a good kid."

"He is," Michonne agreed, watching Andre "read" to Carl.

Rick raked his fingers through his messy hair. "I uh…never thanked you, Michonne…for finding me, bringing me here. If you hadn't done that…"

Michonne shrugged weakly. "I'm just we got you to Carl in time."

She stretched while trying to hide a yawn.

"How're you holding up?" she asked.

Rick dropped his head. "I... I don't know. Grateful that Carl's stable. Terrified he won't stay that way."

"I'm sorry that this is happening. I don't know what I'd do if…" Michonne trailed off, glancing at her baby. "I just don't know."

Rick nodded. "He has to get better. He has to. He's all I have left…" Rick's voice cracked and he looked away, trying to hide his tears.

Michonne looked on sympathetically.

"…His mother?" She questioned softly.

Rick shook his head. "No."

Michonne looked as if she knew Rick's pain all too well.

"…Andre's father?" Rick countered.

Michonne's large brown eyes welled up. "No."

They both looked at each other with a shared understanding. Rick, surprising himself, tentatively held his hand out. Michonne, confused at how comfortable she already felt with this stranger, accepted his gesture.

Curling her fingers around his, Michonne felt an odd sense of familiarity, as if she'd known this man for years. Daring to meet his eyes, it was clear the feeling was mutual. Rick and Michonne looked away quickly, neither understanding what had just happened. Whatever it was, this wasn't the time for it.

"I'm…sorry for your loss, Rick."

"I'm sorry for yours, Michonne."

He gripped her hand a little tighter while they both stood in silence, keeping an eye on their boys.


	4. Chapter 4

**Taking Chances**

 **Written by:** Leeeel

 **STORY SUMMARY:** In the new world, when it comes to survival Michonne has learned that everyone must carry their own load or risk deadly consequences. However, her encounter with the Grimes men inspires a small measure of compassion which leads to her taking chances.

 **A/N** : I chose to rework this particular episode because to me it had the same dynamic as when they met at the prison—At a dire point in time when one is broken mentally and the other physically, both spiritually. And yet they took a chance on each other. That's the angle I tried to portray in this rewrite.

* * *

!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!

 **EP 4x 9 After - New Canon Meet # 4**

Sweat trickles down the length of Michonne's back and the sides of her arms. As she tiptoes across the threshold of the vacant ice cream parlor, her hands clutch her sword's hilt and sheath, and she scans the surroundings for immediate signs of danger. So far there's none. Except, for the thick dust that hangs in the air and the sweltering heat threatening to suck out the oxygen from her lungs.

Stealthily, she moves around the long bar. She searches the moldy shelves, the drawers, and the cupboards for anything of use—Food, batteries, water. In that order. To her right, there are two doors. With caution, she pushes the first one open, and, as she'd hoped, it is a pantry. After gathering the scraps left behind, she approaches the second door. This one has a chair lodged under the knob. She taps against the panel, and hears a low growl. The familiar ghoulish sound from the other side is indicative that she is not alone and, moreover, it would be safer to just walk away.

She doesn't.

She slides her sword from its covering, kicks away the wooden stool, and slowly turns the knob before easing the door open. In an instant, a walking corpse emerges and lunges for her. She doesn't think about it, she simply reacts; a swift swipe of her long blade, effectively and efficiently, removes the head of the bloodthirsty being. Michonne takes a casual step to the left as it drops like a boulder to the floor.

It's become routine—this savage way of surviving—and seriously, she's over it.

She's angry, she's in pain, but she's too strong-willed to just lay down in a shallow grave of her own making and die. Instead, she wanders aimlessly. A lost soul hardened by the horrors of this new world. A savage focused on…

Her introspection pauses as her eyes spot a familiar-looking dust-covered book under a desk.

' **Eat, pray, love?'**

Um, no Ma'am. Eat. Fight. Live. No one is praying and no one is loving anymore. Everyone who's still breathing knows those luxuries are a thing of the past. It's no kind of life, but it's still a life. It's _her_ life. She's not a bloodthirsty corpse, not yet. A monster? Yes. Definitely that. One who has killed, maimed, and tortured without an ounce of compunction. She has no option. This is the end of the world and she's all alone. Ensuring her survival in this cauldron of death rests solely with her.

But again, why? Why bother? Why not just 'Curse God and die?'

' _Why?'_

"Because Mike," she says quietly to the ghost in her mind, "staying alive is not a decision, it just is."

At least, for her, anyway. That's how it is. Pushing forward to something—anything— better. Something she can't yet see. It's how she's wired.

Are there others, she sometimes wonders, others out there like her. Those who won't, _can't,_ give up the fight?

She scavenges the office, takes what she needs, and moves on to the next place.

RJDRJD

Michonne almost never sleeps.

Nightly, she would startle awake. But not from loud, sudden noises, but from the bad dreams—the terrifying images linked with her haunting memories. Maybe a break from slumbering in rusty, abandoned cars was needed. Maybe if she found a bed somewhere safe, she'd easily drift off and for once get a proper rest.

This was what she thought. What she hoped for, when she crawled through a broken window of an empty ranch-style house.

But she was wrong.

Upstairs, inside a plainly decorated bedroom, Michonne tucks and fluffs her pillow for the tenth time, trying in vain to sink into sweet slumber. Thirty minutes after she finally dozes off into her fitful sleep, Michonne jerks awake to the sound of a bang. With her heart pounding, her stomach clenched, she springs upright ready to defend herself.

"Hey, shitface! Hey, asshole!"

"Hey!"

She panics. Two voices. Both male. Coming from downstairs.

"Shit!" she hisses.

In one brisk motion, her hand found her weapon and she leaped to her feet.

This is another reason why she should've stayed out there, in the woods. She'd managed not to make contact with another living soul for weeks. She prefers it that way. It's what she deserves. To be alone with the undead.

Not about to sit and wait and allow them to corner her in this room, she instead creeps out, and gingerly, she descends the stairs. From the shadows she gets a good look at them. Assessing the threat of both men. Well, not men. One is seriously younger. More like a teenage boy. The other, clearly a full adult. In any case, both look tired, injured, and weak.

They are also armed. This is not good. Despite their less than intimidating appearances, they have the means to harm her.

After a few more seconds of deliberation, she decides it's best to step out into the light to confront them.

"This place is taken," she says, her sword aimed high, pointed in their direction. "Get. Out."

Startled by her sudden presence they both whip out their weapons.

The young boy doesn't hesitate to cock his gun. "No. _You_ get out." His hand is shaky, his widened eyes are glued to the edge of her sword, and his breath comes out in short bursts.

She takes a threatening step towards him, and he flinches. He literally huddles closer to his older companion. Ah. There it is, she thinks, only a display of bravado. This kid is scared shitless. And probably very foolish.

The man, however, moves protectively in front of him, and with a tilt of his head, he narrows his eyes at her as though she were an apparition. His gaze then darts around the house.

"Are there others?" he asks, demanding.

The inquiry straightened Michonne's spine and she keeps quiet.

"Are there _any_ others?" he wheezes, practically dead on his feet.

"No." Michonne lowers her sword. "And you?"

"Same." He lowers his pistol. "I only got my boy here, it's just us, so please...My name is Rick Grimes. And this is Carl—"

"Dad!" the boy protests, but his father ignores him.

"We won't be any trouble now," he says, nudging his son behind him. "Just need a place to hunker down for a while. You know how it is out there. You have to reconsider."

"No," she shakes her head, "I don't _have_ to. I was here first."

"If you turn us out you'll be responsible."

Michonne takes a deep breath, grows thoughtful. Struggling between what is right, and what is right for her. Since Andrea, and Woodbury, what's right for her is to stay away from people.

"We have skills," Rick Grimes continues, pleading his case. "You could use us. We're strong."

Michonne smirks. "You don't look strong."

He looks like actual roadkill. With his tattered shirt, that broken nose, crusted blood all over his swollen face, and his bloodshot eye which looks about ready to fall out of its socket. This man could barely harm a fly. And the boy? Well, he's just a boy.

' _Exactly. He's just a boy, Michonne.'_

An image of her own peanut pops into her mind and that familiar burden, that stinging pang of guilt gnaws at her chest and her stomach. She leers at the intruders contemplatively.

"Alright," she says, with a defeated sigh, "But stay _here_. Upstairs, it's mine. And only for tonight."

Rick nods in agreement.

Moments later, she's locked herself back inside the master bedroom. Any attempt to lay back and close her eyes now would be futile. Shit. She's on full alert.

It isn't long, however, before she hears them arguing. First about knots, then about someone named Shane, and then they can't agree on whether or not they should consume or conserve whatever little supplies they still have in their possession.

The boy, he's challenging everything his old man is saying and for a moment, her heart goes out to him—the Dad. It's obvious he's been through hell.

She sits at the top of the bed and leans against the headrest. What kind of man is he, this Rick Grimes? She wonders. And how is it possible he's kept his kid alive for so long? Where have they been hiding? From the looks of it, wherever they were, someone drove them out. And lucky for them they survived. They're survivors. Like her.

She slides down onto the mattress and turns on her side. Downstairs has gotten quiet. Good. All that arguing was getting on her goddamned nerves, and surely would've drawn the attention of the biters to their hovel. A part of her can't believe she's risked her safety by taken a chance with them. Taking chances is not something she can afford to do anymore. Not if she wants to ensure her survival in this monstrous world.

In any case, this setup was temporary. As a matter of fact, before the break of dawn, she'd be long gone. She would be…

Michonne sprang up from the bed at the sudden sound of trudging footsteps, slowly coming up the stairs. Oh my god. Did they not hear what she had said? Holding her breath, again she reaches for the sword. She gets up and unlocks the door. She opens it just enough to steal a glance.

"There's no bathroom downstairs," Rick calls out to no room in particular, as he hits the landing. His voice is strained like a sputtering engine. "Just need a few minutes and I'd be out of your way."

She releases a sigh of impatience. "Second door on your left," she says, "Don't be too long."

He nods as he drags his whistling behind towards the washroom, and Michonne eases her door shut. That man has clearly wrestled with the devil and is going to be dead in less than twenty-four hours, if so long. Again, _not_ her problem. People die all the time these days.

But then what happens to the kid?

The kid? He's tough. Scared, but tough enough to survive in this world. They have a small bag of supplies. He'll get by.

' _He's just a boy Michonne.'_

"I know that Mike, but I don't want to be responsible." Not like he'll let her, Michonne's gut tells her the boy probably would've shot her on sight if not for his father. All that attitude he's been spitting. Hmph... that kid prefers to be alone.

' _No. That kid is angry, and in pain, like you.'_

"Excuse me?"

' _You heard me.'_

"So?"

' _So…'_

Suddenly, Rick comes knocking. "If you're hungry we have some snacks. It's not much, but we could share."

Taken aback, she stares at the door in disbelief. "No, I…" she stammers, "Thanks, but I'm fine."

Neither of them moves for an endless moment. Neither of them says anything more. Just the sound of labored breathing. Is that him or her? Michonne feels awkward. Having to share a space but pretend no one else is there? She's a little bit embarrassed.

"Okay… goodnight," he says, finally.

She releases a sigh of relief. But before he plods off, she turns, grabs her backpack, and opens the door.

"Here," she says, and hands him a bottle of water. "You probably need it more than I do."

He stares at her with such despair in his eyes.

His eyes; they send a shiver down her spine.

"Thank you," he murmurs.

She can't ignore her feelings of pity. Maybe she should stick around for at least one day.

' _Or two.'_

Fine! Or two. But then she is gone. Yup, definitely. Just a couple of days and she'd be _long_ gone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Made to Suffer**

 **Written by:** RickRhymes

 **STORY SUMMARY:** Broken down by a string of tragedies, Rick's sanity is hanging on by threads. When a stealthy stranger emerges from the woods, she just might have the answers he's looking for.

 **A/N:** So, I've never written Richonne circa-Season 3. Their frame of mind back then - the angst and the darkness - is not something I dabble in too much as a writer. This prompt was a challenge for me, which is why I picked it. Hope I did them justice.

* * *

 **EP3x8 Made to Suffer - New Canon Meet #5**

Rick climbed the ladder of the watch tower just before dawn. The rungs were slick with the morning dew. He could see his breath in front of his face in the crisp, cool air.

Once at the top, he pulled his binoculars from his waistband. He looked toward the front gates, and waited for the lenses to focus.

No baby formula.

 _Good_.

Six days ago - the day after his daughter was born, the day after his wife died giving birth to her - Glenn and Maggie went on a run in search of baby formula. They hadn't been back. Four days ago, four cans of baby formula were left at the front gate of the prison. Three days ago, another two cans. Two days ago, just one can. Yesterday, back to two.

Every day, he'd gotten up earlier than the day before, trying to figure out how they'd ended up there. Every day, they'd already been left at the gate.

But not today.

He sprawled out onto the floor of the tower's balcony, propped up on his elbows, and waited. Today, he would see who the mystery gifter was. Most importantly, he would find out what they knew about Glenn and Maggie.

It couldn't be a coincidence, and yet, all the theories he formed in his head didn't quite add up. If this person - or people - knew there was a newborn baby here, they had to have known because of Glenn and Maggie. And they had to have known how to get here because of Glenn and Maggie. So why weren't they back? He couldn't reconcile that the kind of person who would kill them would also be driven to provide for a stranger's infant child. But if this person didn't hurt them, why the cloak-and-dagger bullshit? He was missing something.

Their visitor arrived about ten minutes after Rick took position. It wasn't what he expected.

 _She_ wasn't what he expected.

She was tall, with dark skin and long dreadlocks that bounced off her shoulders as she jogged over to the front gate. Rick held perfectly still, determined not to let her know anyone was onto her. He didn't reach for his binoculars, but he thought he could make out three cans in her arms. When she turned around to leave, he saw a long Samurai sword strapped to her back.

And just as quickly as she had appeared, she was gone.

He descended from the tower when she was just out of sight. He told himself he should recruit one or two guys to help him track her down, but his feet were moving toward the front gate, not the cell blocks. His brain said he needed backup, but his gut told him his window of opportunity would be narrow when it came to this woman.

He took one last look at the prison, and disappeared into the trees.

She was going to find an island. That was the plan. She'd planned on being well out of Georgia by now, five days after escaping from Woodbury. Perhaps _escape_ wasn't the right word - they did let her walk out the door. But she knew better.

Her suspicions were confirmed when The Governor's flunkies followed her. They even shot at her, but none of their bullets landed. The lieutenant knew how to track, that was for sure. It took her three attempts to be able to throw them off her trail. She figured she'd be long gone by the time they realized their mistake. And she would have been, had she not stopped at that discount store for supplies.

She'd already filled her own pack, and was climbing out the back window through which she broke in, when she heard a car pull up. She'd hunkered down outside, initially thinking that The Governor's people had already caught up to her, but she quickly made out a young couple she didn't recognize from Woodbury. A white woman and an Asian man.

They broke the chains on the front door with a pair of bolt cutters, and Michonne watched as they scoured the isles of the store. They filled their bags with the things she would have taken had she had any more room to carry them. The two of them carried on a casual conversation about the weather, their supply list, then about the drive back to their camp. Supposedly, it was a prison, just a few miles from the store. Having lived in Georgia all her life, Michonne bet they were talking about the West Georgia Correctional Facility.

She'd seen that prison over the winter, and it had been overrun with walkers. They had to have a large group back there to have been able to clear it out. That was an asset. People were an asset. But personally, she wasn't looking for a large group. She was looking for an island.

After both the man and woman had their backs turned, she began walking back toward the woods. They seemed capable enough, and she'd prefer they didn't see her to avoid any complications. She was almost out of earshot when she heard the young man's voice echoing across the hills.

 _We just hit the powdered formula jackpot._

She didn't stop moving when she heard it. And she tried not to let the thought of their hungry newborn baby distract her from her mission. But as she laid in her own camp later that night, with nothing but the sound of the crackling fire to distract her, she thought about how fast a baby went through formula. She thought about a few hard-to-find stores she'd visited over the months that might have some.

And she decided, the next day, she'd find some more, and drop it off at the prison - unseen and unheard - on her way out of the area.

And she did. And they took it. She knew because she went back the day after that with more cans, and left them in the same spot.

And the day after that.

And the day after that.

Today, the fifth day of delaying her journey to the coast, she realized that something was keeping her there, and it wasn't just to provide food for a baby she'd never even seen.

Though, she had dropped off three more cans at the prison gates before dawn.

It was about Andrea.

When she left Woodbury, convinced The Governor was not only suspicious but dangerous, Andrea had stayed. And while it cut her deeply, Andrea was an adult and had a right to make her own decisions.

But the reality of abandoning her friend in a place she _knew_ was not safe was something she couldn't sit with. She couldn't move forward with it.

She _had_ to try. One more time.

Beguiled by the promise of walls and a warm bed, Andrea couldn't listen to her own instincts, let alone trust Michonne's. But now, she had proof to back up her intuition. The Governor had sent people after her. To kill her, no doubt. And for what? He knew she didn't believe any of his bullshit about...anything. But what could she possibly do about it? Nothing. She was no threat to him. He wanted to take her out simply because he could. Or so he thought.

Her plan now was to slip her way past the guards and over the south wall by early evening, before the residents turned in for the bed. With any luck, she'd get a glimpse of Andrea on the streets, and she could figure out which house she was staying in.

It was a good plan.

About a mile from Woodbury, she heard the sound of a bubbling brook. It was a beautiful morning. Cool and crisp. The sun was coming up over the horizon, and it was going to be a bright day. She approached the brook to fill up her canteen with water, and as she knelt by the water, she saw something she hadn't seen in a while.

A bird.

She didn't know a damn thing about birds, but she knew she had seen less and less of them since everything happened. She noticed, particularly, because the noise of birds chirping early in the morning used to be one of her favorite sounds.

This little guy was silent today. Perched on a branch about halfway up a tree, pecking at the bark of the trunk. She didn't see any other birds around. It was just this one. All alone. Left behind.

She was making an active attempt _not_ to identify psychologically with this bird's predicament, when her thoughts were interrupted by the cold, cool steel of a gun pressing against the back of her neck.

"Toss the sword. To your left," Rick gestured to their left, to a pile of rocks that was out of her reach.

The woman complied, gently tossing her sword onto a pile of rocks in that direction. He could sense the tension in her body, the anger - not fear - at being held at gunpoint.

"Turn around."

She slowly turned to face him. Her facial expression matched her body language. Her mouth was set in a firm line. Her brown eyes burned with a clear desire to knock his block off.

He stared at her for a long moment, not quite sure what to say. She stayed silent, too. She didn't try explain herself, didn't ask him to put his gun down. She just...waited.

"I saw you," he said, for lack of anything better.

She looked unaffected by his revelation.

"At the prison this morning, with the baby formula," he elaborated.

Recognition dawned in her eyes then, but her reaction was minimal. A small, slow nod. Then, more silence. He could tell she wasn't going to be offering up any information freely.

"What's your name?"

"Does it matter?" She didn't miss a beat.

"No," he agreed. "Where are you headed? Where's your camp?"

"I'm headed over that hill," she said, pointing at a hill to the east of them.

Like an amateur, Rick took his eyes off her to see the path she was on. The woman didn't waste any time. In just a few swift movements, she took hold of his gun and wrist, disarming him. Next, he felt her calf swing under his body, knocking him onto his ass.

She quickly stepped over him, training his own gun on his chest.

"Why did you follow me?"

"What makes you think we need baby formula?" Rick answered her question with one of his own, despite the sudden change in power dynamics.

"The fact that you take it every day."

It would have been a funny comment, under different circumstances.

"There was a woman," she added, eventually. "Young, pretty. And an Asian guy. They were at _Southern Discount_ , a few days ago, looking for baby formula. They mentioned a prison."

"You talked to them?"

"I _saw_ them. From a distance."

"What happened to them?"

She furrowed her brow. "They never got back to the prison?"

Rick shook his head.

"And their baby?" She asked before she could stop herself. Rick shook his head

"The baby isn't theirs. She's mine."

Her face softened at that, and her body relaxed ever so slightly. It was starting to come together for Rick now. This woman had heard from Glenn and Maggie that they needed baby formula at the prison, and she wanted to help feed her. It didn't mean she knew what happened to them.

Not necessarily, anyway.

"They were fine when I left," she said, as if reading his mind. "Had a basket full of supplies."

"I don't believe you," he lied, attempting to wring more details from her.

"I don't care." She gingerly stepped to the side of his body, but kept him at gunpoint. "Stand up," she instructed.

Rick stood slowly, keeping his eyes on her hands, on her finger that rested on the trigger.

"I'm sorry about your friends, but I don't know what happened to them. It's the end of the world. People don't make it home for all sorts of…"

She trailed off.

"What?"

She shook her head. "Nothing."

"It's something," Rick insisted. He could see it in her eyes. A sudden flicker of an idea she wasn't saying out loud. " _Please_."

She lowered the gun to her side, and let out a sigh of resignation. "There were a group of men. I was trying to avoid crossing paths with them, when I got to that store."

"And you think they could have hurt my people?"

"I wouldn't put it past them. They were...on my trail."

"Why?"

"I don't know, exactly."

"Where can I find them?"

"Right over that hill."

 _Where she said she was headed..._

"So, a group of men chase you down, and you're going back to where they live?" He wasn't so much incredulous as he was curious. If he were a betting man, he'd wager she could take on a dozen goons without breaking a sweat.

"I'm not going back for them. I have a friend there. Family."

"You've been to their camp before?"

"Yes, but it's not a camp. They call it Woodbury. The guy who runs the place goes by _Governor_. A real Jim Jones type. They've got food, water, walls. They're armed, but most of them can't fight."

Rick appreciated the succinct way she provided him all the answers to the questions he hadn't even asked yet. "How do we get in?"

" _We?_ "

"Your family is in there. Mine might be, too."

"Guards are on the wall around the clock, but we can slip our way through. We'll find my friend, and see if she's seen your people."

"If they went to this Woodbury, they didn't go willingly. You really think they're going to be sitting out on the front stoop with everyone else?"

"You don't want to hear what I think." If this community was as dangerous as she was she was painting it out to be, then she was right. He didn't.

"We don't know until we know," she added.

 _This was risky_ , Rick reminded himself. He should go back. If he thought Glenn and Maggie could be at this Woodbury - and it was his best lead at the time - he should go home, and return with back-up and weapons.

"I have more people," he offered. "Back at the prison. We have men and firepower."

"No," she declined, firmly.

"Our chances-"

"Do what you want. I'm not waiting around while you get your shit together. My friend is in there, and I'm going now."

Rick threw his hands up in surrender. It was an easy decision. The advantage of her familiarity with this place far outweighed the disadvantages of them going in alone. "Alright. I'll go with you. Now."

Her silence seemed to serve as implicit agreement.

"Can I have that back?" He pointed to his gun still in her hand.

She looked down at the gun at her side. Then, as if remembering for the first time her own weapon was gone, she walked over to the pile of rocks where she had tossed her sword. She picked it up, slung it over her back.

Then, much to his surprise, she actually handed him his weapon. He repaid that show of trust by tucking it securely into the back of his jeans.

They walked mostly in silence. There wasn't much he wanted to say, and he sensed she felt the same way. They shared a common interest for a day. That was all.

If he were being honest, this mission was one of the few threads holding him together anymore. Focusing on these immediate needs helped him to avoid facing the horrors he and his people had endured over the last few days. Lori, T-Dogg, Carol… He could justify setting those tragedies aside for life and death matters. Right now, those included getting Judith food, and finding Glenn and Maggie. This stranger had already helped him with the first, now she was helping him with the second.

"Thank you for bringing that formula," he said after a good ten minutes without words between them. "We would have been in trouble without it."

"You're welcome."

"You know, I still don't know your name."

She didn't offer it up.

"I'm Rick."

Still nothing.

"Look, we don't need to be best friends, but if we're gonna have each others' back in there, we should at least have something to call each other."

"Michonne," she said after a beat, facing him without breaking stride. "My name is Michonne."


End file.
